


There's A Wolfsbane For That

by Spuri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Wolfsbane, and ridiculousness, and this happens in some nebulous and undetermined point in time after season 2, as in I'll be ignoring most of what happens in season 3, so most chapters can probably be read stand-alone, so much wolfsbane, there is literally no point to this fic, this will be very episodic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spuri/pseuds/Spuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With over 250 different species, all with different properties and uses, wolfsbane is an important part of life for any werewolf, for good and bad. Knowing your wolfsbane types can not only save lives, but also make your lycanthropic life so much easier. Here are some examples, taken from the daily lives of the Beacon Hills werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1: Don't Eat Old Chinese

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurian_defiant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurian_defiant/gifts).



> Yes, this is basically a giant "there's an app for that" joke, born from the ridiculous handwavium stuff the show pulls with wolfsbane. The joke, and not the romance, will be the main focus, so it'll probably take a while for anything to happen. 
> 
> Other pairings will probably show up as well as new episodes crop up. But this is pointless, fluffy crack, so there will be no death and mayhem, or messy love triangles and drama. Just silly daily life episodes involving wolfsbane.

Stiles flopped face-down on his bed with a pained groan. He was done. Finito. Fucking _expired_. Endless hours of research, and he had nothing to show for it except a throbbing head and a severe sleep deficit. He _hated_ it when the newest supernatural menace was being elusive and frustrating. Which was... pretty much always, really.

 

His phone rang, and he whimpered as the sound reverberated through his already aching head. For a split second, he was almost tempted to ignore it, but most of the calls he got these days were kind of life and death - or at least serious injury - related.

 

He groped blindly in the direction of his nightstand for the phone, and sighed in victory as his hand closed around it. A quick glance before he answered told him it was Scott.

 

“Yeah, buddy?”

 

Scott’s answer was a tortured groan that was probably supposed to be his name, and Stiles pretty much leaped off the bed in panic and adrenaline.

 

“Scott? What’s wrong? Where are you, what happened?”

 

“I’m at home, I don’t know how this happened, but something... oh god, something’s not right. I feel like I’m dying,” Scott explained on a whine, before being cut off by this odd scrambling, and then...

 

“You’re throwing up,” Stiles stated, because that’s what it sounded like. And then the implication of that hit him, and he sort of panicked. He’d never seen a werewolf puke in an even remotely normal scenario. “Oh my god, you’re a _werewolf_ , you don’t get sick, why are you throwing up?! Oh, this is bad, this is so bad.”

 

The only reply was a pitiful whimper and more retching. This was so bad, Stiles wasn’t even remotely equipped to handle supernatural puking illnesses. He snapped his fingers in triumph as the obvious answer hit him

 

“Okay, hang on, I’m coming to get you, I’ll take you to Deaton, he’ll know what to do, just stay right there, okay, buddy?” Hastily grabbing his keys and wallet, he waited for a groaned affirmation before he hung up, and crashed down the stairs while he trying to find Deaton’s number on his phone.

 

Frankly, it was something of a miracle that he survived the trip. “Hey, dad,” he called to the back of his dad’s head where it was visible above the back of the couch as he rushed through the room. “Scott’s having a medical emergency, I’m heading over. Bye, dad.”

 

“Stiles!” his dad yelled, turning around to fix him with a worried look. Stiles froze in his tracks. He knew that tone. It was one that brooked no nonsense or opposition. “Medical emergency? Is he okay?”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s just like a stomach flu food poisoning thing? He’s just feeling kinda miserable, and Mrs. McCall’s at the hospital, so...” Stiles was cut off by his dad sighing.

 

“Gotcha, go. Wouldn’t want to leave Scott stewing in his misery. Just don’t catch anything, alright, kid? Be careful.” His dad shot him a quick smile before turning back to the TV, and Stiles wanted so badly to just hug the man for being the best dad ever; even though Stiles had basically been nothing but a disappointment lately, his dad still cared, and still believed him.

 

“Will do, dad. I don’t think it’s infectious, though. Probably just something he ate. Okay, love you, dad, bye!” Stiles rushed for the door, and it had almost closed behind him when he heard his dad’s ‘ _love you too, kiddo_ ’, float out after him. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, and pressed call with a triumphant cry as he came to Deaton’s number.

 

“C’mon, pick up, _pick up_ ,” he mumbled as he got into his jeep and started it, quickly throwing it in reverse, bouncing in his seat from impatience.

 

“Deaton speaking.”

 

_Finally_ , an answer, after what felt like half an eternity. He let out a shaky, nervous sigh. “Hey, yeah, it’s me, Stiles. We’ve got a problem, it’s Scott...”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“You’ve got food poisoning,” Deaton said as he calmly peeled his gloves off and stepped back from where Scott was curled up on his steel examination table, shivering and moaning, clenched around a small bucket. He headed for his office, and Stiles was left with Scott, giving his best friend his absolute best ‘ _dude, wtf_ ’ expression.

 

“Werewolves can actually get food poisoning?” he asked, incredulous. He ran his fingers through his hair, kind of relieved that this wasn’t anything serious, or anything out to kill them all. “Scott, what did you _eat_?”

 

Seriously, what in the world could possibly be strong enough to defeat the ridiculous thing known as the werewolf immune system and give them _food poisoning_?

 

“I don’t know, man,” Scott whimpered into his bucket. “The only thing I can think of is the leftover Chinese from that place over on, y’know, Ivy Hill Row.”

 

“Dude! You did not!” Stiles hissed at him. Surely Scott wouldn’t do that to him. “I told you that place was evil! Okay, when were you possibly stupid enough to get food from there?”

 

An awkward silence spread through the room, so deep Stiles could hear Deaton rummaging through his office. Stiles crossed his arms fixed Scott with an accusing look that Scott saw pretty much nothing of, because he was fervently avoiding Stiles’ eye. “You can’t even remember, can you? You ate leftover Chinese food from the shadiest restaurant in all of California, that you have no idea when you even bought? Do you have, like, a death wish or something? Because not only am I’m pretty sure there are easier ways to do it, it’s also my job as your bro to _stop you_ from doing stuff like that. Seriously, even werewolves aren’t indestructible.”

 

“It smelled just _fine_!” Scott protested sulkily, curling up in a smaller ball on the examination table. “I figured it was okay.”

 

Stiles couldn’t believe he was hearing the words coming out of Scott’s mouth. Wasn’t he supposed to have super senses, or something? “You should probably try seeing if it’s possible to get a refund or exchange or something on that supersniffer, ‘cause yours is clearly broken.”

 

Scott’s retort was interrupted by Deaton coming back in with a small box. He opened it and shook something out. “Here, take this. It should help calm your stomach down,” he said and handed Scott a pair of pills. Scott eagerly took them and swallowed them dry.

 

He was clearly braver than Stiles was. If he’d been throwing up that violently, he’d be more careful about trying to swallow stuff. And more careful about just downing any kind of drug. But then again, when you were feeling _that_ shitty, it was kind of any port in a storm territory.

 

“Wait, I thought drugs didn’t really work on werewolves?” Stiles asked with a confused frown. And if there _were_ drugs that worked on weres - that was trippy to say even in his own head - he wanted to know about them. And acquire them. He was kind of proud of his slowly growing Supernatural Shenanigans Salubrious Stockpile, with items to counteract and heal all sorts of weird stuff he was sure they’d bump into - or bump into again - someday.

 

“Ah, no, those I made myself, from the dried petals of a certain rare type of wolfsbane,” Deaton said as he got Scott a glass of water.

 

“Thanks, doc,” Scott said with a grateful smile as he took his first sip. He was already looking less pale, and _what_? That didn’t even make sense, how could it work that fast?

 

Not to mention, _why_ did it work? Stiles had spent more hours on botany pages than he wanted to think about researching this, and wolfsbane was highly poisonous, that was the whole point, it killed _everything_ , not only werewolves or wolves. So why would that calm Scott’s stomach?

 

Stiles groaned in frustration and rubbed violently at his face. The worst thing about the supernatural stuff in his life was that _nothing made sense_ anymore. He missed the days when he could rely on science. Not that there was any point dwelling on it.

 

Stiles shook his head to try to get into research mode. It wasn’t all that easy, with how his head was still aching pretty badly. “Okay, so, rare strain. Can we cultivate it? What sort of stuff does it work on?” It seemed kind specific that it cured food poisoning in werewolves. Not to mention, who had even figured that out, in the first place? ‘ _Crap, I’m a werewolf puking my guts out, let’s try to fix it by eating this thing that usually kills me_.’

 

Yeah, that made sense. Oh well, he probably shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“Come by here tomorrow, Stiles,” Deaton said with his ever-present zen smile. “I’ll show you a couple of things.”

 

That sounded vaguely ominous, but he needed this knowledge. “Will do. Thanks.”

  
And down the wolfsbane rabbit hole he went...


	2. Episode 2: Die, Hair Dye, Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags mention that I'm ignoring most of season 3, and one of those things I'm ignoring is Erica's death. She's too awesome to kill off, so here she is!
> 
> ...err. Expect no explanation as to HOW she's alive, though. If canon has plot holes large enough to drive an armoured truck through it, then so can I! Mwahahahaha!

Stiles walked into Derek’s loft for the pack meeting, and froze when he noticed Erica methodically ripping apart the couch with a wolfy snarl. He would’ve thought Derek would be opposed to this behavior, but judging by how he was calmly leaning against the wall and reading a book, not batting an eye, he was apparently a-okay with Erica using his couch as a clawing post.

 

“Uh,” was the most intelligent response he could make. He ransacked his brain for something else to say, but kind of came up short. Fortunately, his mouth was happy to pick up the slack. It liked showing initiative that way. “I’d ask you if it was that time of month, but I’m not sure I’d know which one I was referring to.”

 

 _Dammit_ , when was his mouth going to learn _not_ to bait angry werewolves?! Erica paused in her clawing, and fixed him with bright yellow eyes, and he thought that if he survived this, that maybe this would be the lesson that stuck. He swallowed, even though his mouth had suddenly turned dry as sand.

 

“If you ever make a period joke again, I’ll give you an immediate vasectomy. _With my claws_.”

 

“Right,” he squeaked. Even without a wolfy lie detector, he was pretty damn sure she was serious. “No jokes about the monthly cycle, gotcha.”

 

Erica studied him carefully, as if she was trying to determine if he’d been sufficiently intimidated, or if she needed to go for a more _hands on_ tactic. Stiles could feel cold sweat on the back of his neck, and shot Derek a pleading look for help. Derek’s eyebrows replied ‘ _you were stupid enough to get yourself into this situation, so good luck. I’m not touching this_.’ Derek’s eyebrows were very expressive that way. Which was good, since the stupid wolf never used his damn words. The eyebrow thing was the only way he ever got anything across.

 

But after a nerve-wracking eternity, Erica nodded to herself and turned her attention back on the couch. Stiles heaved a sigh of relief at this stay of his execution. He cautiously moved closer, because he had yet to meet a tense situation he didn’t want to poke with a stick.

 

“So... would it be okay to ask _why_ we’re dissecting the couch, or is that another taboo question? I mean, maybe there’s something I could do to help?” he suggested, all the while creeping closer to the couch in a ‘ _don’t startle the wild beast_ ’ shuffle.

 

Erica gave him a dismissive look and scoffed. She made a pleased little noise in the back of her throat as one of the couch pillows ripped with a magnificent fabric death rattle.

 

“Or I could just listen,” he added hurriedly, settling on the floor just out of reach. Not that she couldn’t get to him and rip his throat out faster than he could blink, but still. It was a sort of... illusion of safety.

 

Erica gave the couch a moment’s respite, and the loft went completely silent. Even Derek didn’t dare turn a page in his book to interrupt - and Stile _knew_ he was done with his page, he’d been absently timing the sound since he first entered the loft - despite the fact that he was supposed to be a big, bad alpha werewolf, and Erica was his _beta_.

 

“I dyed my hair,” Erica mumbled, picking at one of the smaller tears on the couch.

 

Stiles blinked in surprise and studied her hair. People always joked that guys didn’t notice when girls changed stuff with their appearance, but Stiles liked to think he was more perceptive than that. But he really couldn’t see any difference.

 

“It, uh, looks nice?” he hazarded, fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of his hoodie. He fervently hoped this conversation wouldn’t end with claws to his balls, especially since Derek was still lurking in the corner, looking entirely disinclined to butt in if any maiming were to happen.. “I mean, I’ll be honest enough, I can’t really tell what you changed, and trust me, I feel like a dick for saying that, but yeah, you look beautiful. As always.”

 

Erica shot him a look that was halfway grateful and halfway frustrated. “No, I dyed my hair, and then I wolfed out, and it _turned back_. I didn’t think I signed up for zero body modification when I accepted the bite.” She curled up slightly, and buried her claws deep in a so far unscathed patch of couch. It was pretty much a critical hit.

 

“Ohh, you used _normal_ dye,” Stiles exclaimed in relief and understanding. Apparently he wasn’t That Asshole who couldn’t tell a drastic change in hairstyle after all. “Well, of course it turned back, then. Why would you use normal dye?”

 

Derek straightened and put down his book to fix Stiles with a surprised and intrigued expression. Erica simply stared at him in confusion. “What?”

 

“Normal dye doesn’t work on werewolves, there’s a wolfsbane for that,” Stiles explained, suddenly every bit as confused as Erica, because why wouldn’t she know that. “Didn’t Derek tell you?”

 

Erica’s head snapped around to glare menacingly at Derek, whose eyes widened in what most people would peg for surprise, but Stiles secretly thought was fear. “No, he didn’t,” Erica said in a deceptively sweet tone that didn’t sound very sweet at all, due to the hint of growl in it.

 

“Because I didn’t _know_!” Derek protested, and his eyebrows were asking Stiles why he would throw him under the bus like that. “How was I supposed to know that?! How do _you_ know that?”

 

“Because I’ve been spending the last two weeks studying wolfsbane with Deaton,” Stiles said, and flailed at Derek’s eyebrows in an attempt to communicate that he hadn’t even considered Derek not knowing this stuff. “But seriously, why _don’t_ you know, you grew up in a werewolf family! Did no-one ever dye their hair?”

 

Derek grit his teeth and looked away, clenching his fist so hard it looked painful. “My mom didn’t, and she wouldn’t let Laura or Cora do it either, said they were still too young for that kind of thing.”

 

The ‘ _and then they all died_ ’ hung unspoken in the air, and Stiles felt like the biggest asshole ever. He hated seeing Derek like this; seemingly angry, but the anger looked like nothing more than a fragile mask to hide pain and fear and sorrow and, if Stiles wasn’t reading this wrong, crippling guilt.

 

Stiles knew a thing or two about survivor’s guilt, so he was pretty sure he was right. But he’d seen Derek’s mask of anger before, and it seemed thinner now, more cracked. He worried what would happen when it finally shattered.

 

Even Erica seemed mollified by this explanation. Well, more like awkwardly frozen in a weird emotional limbo, because she was still _angry_ , but she didn’t have anything to be angry at that didn’t make her look like a total asshole. The expression on her face was kind of priceless. Because even if she could be somewhat... harsh, with the car parts and everything, Erica was too classy to kick Derek while he was down, to take his family dying before they could tell him stuff out on him.

 

“Anyway, you can’t just mix the wolfsbane with normal dye, the chemicals tend to act up, but let me know what colour you wanted, and I’ll see what I can do?” Stiles suggested, hoping to both cheer Erica up and steer Derek’s thoughts away from their doom and gloom fog. Or at least to a slightly lighter part of the doom and gloom fog. He was pretty sure Derek’s thoughts never left said fog completely.

 

Erica fixed him with a hopeful expression, a slight smile teasing at her lips. “Yeah?”

 

“Sure thing, Catwoman,” Stiles said and grinned. He thought he saw Derek’s shoulders slump a little in relief. “Not all pigments work all that great with wolfsbane, so you might not have as large a range of colour to work with as you would with store-bought dye, but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

 

Erica beamed at him, before leaping from the couch with superhuman speed and onto him to give him a crushing hug. Stiles froze, kind of painfully sprawled on the floor with Erica on top of him. Ow, his legs were not meant to bend that way. But really? They were hugging buddies now? Hesitantly, he settled his hands gently, barely touching on her back, and returned the hug. That’s what you did when people hugged you, right? Hugged them back?

 

“Thanks, Stiles,” Erica whispered in his ear.

 

“Any time,” he replied, and Erica let go of him, breaking the hug and crawling up off of him.“Wanna head to the store so you can point out the colour you wanted, so we can get this show on the road?”

 

Erica nodded and grabbed his hand, pulling him up to drag him out of there. As they walked past Derek, she paused, and stared guiltily at the floor. “I... sorry about the couch,” she mumbled, and glanced nervously up at Derek.

 

Derek’s lips twitched in what was almost a fond smile, and Stiles was torn between gaping in disbelief and wanting to _coo_. It probably made for a strange expression, ‘cause Derek gave him an odd look. “It’s alright, Erica. Don’t worry about it. It’s just a couch.”

 

Erica returned Derek’s almost-smile with a soft one of her own, which seemed equally out of character. Erica very rarely seemed soft. The entire thing felt like _pack_ , and it filled Stiles with this awkward bundle of emotions he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with, so he went with his usual tactic and ignored it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why he was happy to see Erica and Derek like this, why he was happy they _let_ him, why he wanted to have that kind of exchange with someone as well.

 

But he had this feeling that if he started analyzing those thoughts, he’d stumble upon... _something_ in himself that he’d be better off not knowing about. So he locked them all away in a box in a back of his mind, hoping that if he ignored them for long enough, they’d go away entirely, or he’d find a piece of the puzzle that made those thoughts and feelings less intimidating.

 

“C’mon, Stiles,” Erica said with a wolfy grin and a tug on his hand. Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone so happy and _grateful_ about something he’d offered, about skills or knowledge he had. It was humbling and gratifying, and kind of made all the time and energy he’d ever put into research worth it.

 

He returned her grin, vowing to work even harder on researching all the things. “I’m right behind you. Let’s go find you some kick-ass dye.”

 

It turned out, keeping up with a skipping werewolf was _hard_ , even if she was in heels. And they didn’t like being called on the skipping.

  
Erica rocked her new hair colour, though. To the surprise of absolutely no-one.

**Author's Note:**

> Got any ideas for completely ridiculous stuff some type of wolfsbane can do? Drop me a comment here, or send me an ask at [Tumblr](http://spurisani.tumblr.com)!


End file.
